


Like Drowning In A Desert

by geckoholic



Series: author's favorites [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: All Embedded In Some Angsty Narration IDK, Anal Sex, Breathplay, Consensual Kink, Experimental Kink, M/M, Mild Kink, No Safeword, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Topping from the Bottom, Undernegotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:23:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8651083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: Dick's biting his lips and rolling his hips, wordless but unmistakable plea for Jason to move, get on with it, make this count. And it fits, of course it does; he wouldn't back down from a challenge either. Competitive down to the deceptively soft core of him, unwilling to give Jason just one inch, even in this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt _fear_. I had... well, still somewhat impure intentions, but things deteriorated a little and then suddenly I was writing breathplay? Whoops. Also this is sappy and angsty and I'm still learning these two and thought I'd play around a little to see how they react, so make of that what you will. 
> 
> Read over by beta-lactamase. Thank you!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Flames" by Jayme Dee.

One of the common misconceptions about their life is that people assume them to be fearless. Jumping off rooftops, engaging super-powered enemies that outclass them in strength and also willingness to do damage, to kill; it might seem like they're spitting fear in the face. But in their line of work, lack of fear doesn't keep you alive. It gets you dead. Jason could write the book on that one, and on the difference between _fear_ and _bravery_. You're supposed to be afraid. It's essential for correct risk assessment and for knowing when to fold and come back another day, which is one of these things that Batman preaches, but rarely practices. Do as I say, not as a I do. In the House of Wayne, that's a classic. 

The thing with fear is, however, that you can't let it make you stupid. And right now, Jason is both. Terribly afraid – more than guns or weird gadgets could ever make him – and so very stupid. 

He's laying awake, staring at the ceiling in the dark, his pulse going a mile a minute. There's no imminent threat, no one out for his life. There's just Dick, stretched out on his stomach beside him, half-naked underneath the sheets that are rucked down to his hips, head pillowed on his arms, eyes closed and breathing even. And for some reason, Jason can't even _look_ at him. Which is ridiculous, considering Jason spent a good chunk of his teenage years watching Dick's every move and called that training. He knows every line of Dick's body, in motion and in stillness – a body that seems like it was made for something much gentler than this kind of life. 

As of six weeks ago, Jason also knows how Dick looks when he arches his back to press into a deep, languid thrust. When he's got his legs spread as wide as they go, eyes squeezed shut and his lower lip sucked between his teeth, balancing right on the edge of an orgasm, not quite yet letting himself fall. When he glances up from between Jason's legs, teasing smile playing on his lips while he licks a stripe up Jason's cock. 

What he wasn't prepared for is how Dick looks asleep, calm and open and trusting, his features relaxed, like he hasn't got a care in the world. Somehow he's even more beautiful for the lack of tension marring his features, and Jason's pretty sure he doesn't deserve any of that. It can't be that this is for him; it can't be that Dick's his to have. Not after everything. Because another thing Jason knows is what it feels like when his fist connects with the side of Dick's jaw, in a swing that's intended to bruise or break. He knows the exact expression on Dick's face when there's a gun muzzle pressed to his temple. Knows how much pressure is needed to make him stop struggling when you've got the heel of a heavy boot pushed against his stomach. And he's certain that, sooner or later, Dick will remember it too. 

They have an expiration date, for sure. It'll be over the exact day Dick figures out his error, that Jason doesn't deserve him and that he should be fighting him, instead of fucking him, like he's done so many times. Some part of Jason hopes that it will happen soon. Before he'll have a chance to fall too far, before he'll _need_ this. 

Yeah, right. As if he hasn't already left that point in the rear-view mirror. 

He turns, curling into Dick's side, allows the solid warmth of him to drain away the doubt and dissipate the fear. Maybe it'll end. Maybe it won't. Right now, he gets to have this, and he can't quite stop himself from reaching out, running his fingertips down the hard planes of Dick's back, letting them dance up between his shoulder blades. He leans in and mouths at Dick's neck, whispering his name. Smiles when Dick stirs, Jason's voice breaking through the haze of sleep like he was hard-wired to react to the sound. Might even make sense if that were true; they've screamed each other's names so many times over the years, both in mindless worry and blind rage, that it may have gotten seared into their respective subconscious. 

Whatever the reason, Dick blinks awake. He shifts onto his side, presses the heel of one hand to his eyes and rubs, yawning. 

“What's goin' on?” he drawls, voice sleep-slurred. “Why'd you wake me?”

Jason shakes his head. “No reason,” he replies, and then leans in to belie that with a kiss. 

He can feel Dick's smile against his lips as he reciprocates, his hand reaching up and bunching the fabric of Jason's t-shirt, gathering him in closer still. Jason's hands, meanwhile, wander lower with clear, unmasked intend. He feints to dip them below the waistband of Dick's briefs, the only item of clothing he still wears. Hitches a finger into the elastic instead and yanks, until Dick gets the memo and lifts his hips so he can get them out of the way. 

Jason shoves and pushes until Dick understands and rolls back onto his stomach. He scoots a little lower on the bed, buries his face in the crook of Dick's neck while he lets his fingers dance over Dick's hipbones. The only reason he manages to drag up the patience for that is that he knows it will drive Dick _mad_. Which is hypocritical, because Jason can attest first-hand that Dick himself is quite fond of teasing, will have you out of your head with _maybes_ and _soons_ before he's even touched you anywhere for real. It fucking figures, really, that Dick's vicious side will come out and play when it comes to pleasure, rather than pain. 

But Dick isn't at the helm right now, Jason is, and he's going to let him have a taste of his own medicine. Jason lets his fingertips roam his skin ever so gingerly, over and past his hips, the curve of his ass. Taps his skin with two fingers and, when Dick obediently spreads his legs a little wider, dips them lower to touch the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. He skims them down his perineum with too little pressure, tortuous ghost of a touch. Dick groans. He shifts, and Jason imagines that he's bearing down to get some friction on his now-hardened cock, using the pressure between the bed and his own body to relieve some of this need. Jason can feel him redistribute his weight again, this time so he can free one arm and use it to clutch another handful of his Jason's t-shirt and hold fast. His grip intensifies when Jason cups his balls, rolling them in the palm of his hand. There's more strength in Dick than anyone gives him credit for, both literally and figuratively, and it takes some effort to strain away, shake off his hold. 

“So impatient,” says Jason as he sits up and inches across the bed so he can retrieve lube and condoms from the bedside drawer. 

“Fuck you,” Dick complains with a derisive snort, but he falls silent when Jason brushes a thumb against his hole, insistent and without ambiguity. His legs fall wider still and he cants his hips, lasciviously grinding against the mattress underneath him. This is when Jason himself looses part of restraint, the careless way in which Dick telegraphs his needs making his breath catch in his throat. 

At the end of the day, they're both not particularly patient people, and so Jason works him open quickly. Slicks two fingers up but good, and grins at the shuddered breath Dick gives when he pushes them both in at once. He moves them slowly – there's impatience and then there's risking to outright hurt him – and shallow, only fucks them in deeper when he hears the slightly labored quality to Dick's breathing; adds a third when he's rewarded with a first filthy groan. 

Possibly a little too soon he pulls them out, rids himself of his own boxers, rips the condom wrapper open and puts it on. He bends down to nip at the shell of Dick's ear, follows that up with a command that Dick may turn around onto his back. Demands like that tend to be fifty-fifty; sometimes they're met with compliance, other times they result in a raised middle finger. Tonight, though, Dick obeys and flips over. He looks Jason dead in the eye while he makes a display of himself: legs spread obscenely wide, one hand loosely wrapped around his own cock, lazily thumbing the head, one eyebrow quirked in challenge – a challenge Jason's intend on taking, but even so he sits back, meeting Dick's eyes, and _stares_. Purposefully, raking his eyes up and down Dick's body, because he's aware of what that does to him. Every inch the performer; at some point, Jason vows, he's going to loot out the limits of that exhibitionist streak. 

But that's a thought for another night. Right now, he positions himself between Dick's legs, kneeling, hooks one hand underneath Dick's knee and hikes his leg up, making room. He takes another second to appreciate the sight in front of him: Dick's given up on indignation and is now staring up at him, eyes half-lidded, color sitting high in his cheeks. He's grabbed the sheets with both hands and he's rock hard, cock straining up against his stomach, a drop of precome collected at the tip even though he hasn't been touched that much yet. Just because he wants this so much; because he's so eager for it. 

And who is Jason to make him wait any longer. He presses down, forcing him to part his legs as wide as they go, and pushes in with one long thrust. It has Dick hissing and pulling harder at the sheets, the muscles in his arms playing underneath his skin as his grip turns white-knuckled. But he doesn't complain, doesn't ask Jason to go slower. No – he's biting his lips and rolling his hips, wordless but unmistakable plea for Jason to _move_ , get on with it, make this count. And it fits, of course it does; he wouldn't back down from a challenge either. Competitive down to the deceptively soft core of him, unwilling to give Jason just one inch, even in this. 

But hey, it's not like Jason is any different. The rhythm he sets is punishing, unforgiving, paying no mind to the fact that they're going too quickly and it must burn and maybe even sting, just a little, just for the next few thrusts. Dick responds by pushing back against him, into the pressure, and hitching both legs up around Jason's torso, holding fast. The new position gets Jason in deeper, and for a few moments it's amazing, straight-up filthy heaven, long thrusts and sweet, tight pressure. 

But then Dick's pressing down, strong thighs closing around Jason's body like a vice, causing a wave of adrenaline through Jason's veins on instinct and sense memory both. Then he catches up with what Dick's about to do – using this new leverage to flip them. He throws all his weight into it, too, which makes the move quick and violent, causes Jason to slip out of him and flail at the sheets for purchase. Once he's found a somewhat comfortable position, he looks up, and when their eyes lock Dick's grinning. He's sat on his haunches, and his expression is this perfect cross of malice and giddy amusement that Jason's only ever seen on him, and that, too, makes sense; Dick never did take well to following, to submission. For a while, sure. But he's too much of a control freak to let that last.

“You could've just _asked_ ,” Jason complains. His own voice sounds alien to him – low and hoarse, filled with such obvious need that he has to bite it his lip, stop himself from adding something scathing just to wash the taste out. 

Dick cocks his head at him, lips still quirked in smug, teasing amusement. “Where'd be the fun in that?”

Before Jason can come up with an appropriate comeback, Dick shifts closer and straddles him. One hand braced on Jason's chest, he reaches down between their bodies with the other, lining them up all over again, and slowly, ever so slowly, he sinks back down on Jason's cock. Jason, in the meantime, has gone back to staring and, oh, _oh_ , there it is again, that openness, coupled with a need to perform; every single sensation, everything he's feeling, is mirrored on Dick's face and punctuated by all these little moans and whines. He screws his eyes shut when he's fully seated, keeping himself perfectly still for one single second, before he starts to circle his hips. It's still too slow, selfish; all about finding the right angle, wringing his own pleasure out of Jason's body. But contrary to popular belief, Jason can be patient, can be giving, if it's for the right purpose. He can shelve his own needs and wait his turn. 

And that's what he does; he holds his breath and watches, waits until Dick's hand balls up the fabric of Jason's t-shirt anew and he lifts his body up, then crashes back down, quicker with each repetition. Jason's brain floods with sweet pleasure, even better for having held out. He grips Dick's hip with one hand, not guiding or directing, but feeling his movements, his strength, feeling his muscles work, expand and contract. He hoists himself up on one arm so he can touch Dick more, further around to cup his ass, and Dick's movements settle, lose some of their harsh edge but none of their urgency. It allows Jason to take a slight detour, reach down to where they're joined so he can finger the obscene lube-wet slide where Dick's stretched around him. 

Dick gives a low growl at that, and it's probably too much, too intense; the furled skin is hot to the touch, tender, sensitive, more so because Jason rushed him earlier. He's probably going to feel this for a day or two, and the thought comes with a slight sense of crude satisfaction. Jason scrapes a blunt nail across the edge, huffs a laugh when Dick's fingers claw painfully at his chest in retaliation. He does, however, neither slow down nor move away. His rhythm doesn't even falter. 

Encouraged as such, Jason retracts his hand and moves it back up Dick's body, past his hips this time, up his chest, a slow but purposeful journey. There's an idea that has popped inside his head, an urge, really, and he allows himself a moment of hesitation with his fingers fanned out just below Dick's collarbone, close enough to his heart that he can feel it hammering in his chest, sped up with arousal and beginning exertion. But second thoughts aren't exactly Jason's style, and so he inches his hand further up before he can think better of it, covering Dick's neck. 

Dick's gaze darts down, then meet Jason's in silent question. There's no alarm in his expression, just confusion. Jason shakes his head, _don't ask, just let me_. He still moves nearly in slow motion, slots his hand up so his forefinger and thumb are locked beneath Dick's jaw. Counts to ten in his hand, giving them both one last chance to back out, and presses upwards. 

That might still not have been enough of a warning, his intent not clear enough to be vetoed, because Dick's eyes widen in evident surprise. He stills completely, his entire body locking up, and just as quickly as the idea flew into Jason's head, it's replaced with guilt and horror. Suddenly he's terrified of himself, worried that he overstepped and thus ruined it all – ruined _everything_. Any second now Dick will pull himself off him. He'll run as fast and as far as his feet will carry him, and he'll be right to have done so. There's too much history between them, too many times where Dick must have wondered whether Jason might indeed be able to kill him if he crossed his path, spoiled his plans, just one more time. 

And truth to be told, deep down where Jason can't even lie to himself, he knows that may have been a possibility. Early on, rapid with hurt and disappointment, that poisonous feral anger the pit gave him still seeping through his every pore, he could have. He would have. 

Words spill from his lips without order, incoherent and hardly audible, a mindless mix of apologies and curses and pleas, and it finally occurs to him that he should remove his hand. Eliminate the threat, and then maybe fall to his knees in more than a metaphorical sense, begging forgiveness like he's done never before in his life. But before he can will his muscles to carry the motion out, Dick begins to move again. Not too much; they're shallow, quick and well-measured swirls of his hips, and it takes Jason a second to figure out why. Changing his position too much would restrict his air supply further, and even like this Dick knows how to use his body just right, steely self-control utilized in ways the Bat surely never intended. His lips are curling into a wide, wicked smile, and he looks down, prompting Jason to follow his line of sight. 

Jason blinks, disbelieving and at the same time so relieved he can hardly comprehend what he sees. Dick's still hard. He's still hard, and he's still fucking himself on Jason's cock as much as he's able without chocking up, and he's goddamn _grinning_. What's more, while Jason watches, somewhat stunned, he slowly reaches down and takes himself in hand, stroking in sync with that shallow rhythm. 

Experimentally, Jason pushes is hand further up, so that for a moment he's constricting Dick's airway even more. He lets up almost immediately, but it's enough to notice a slight acceleration to Dick's pace; it quickens and loses some of its controlled, measured quality, becoming frantic, desperate. He does it again, forces himself to pay attention despite the ragged pleasure that's cursing through his own body. His eyes are pinned to Dick's face, monitoring his reactions closely, making sure this doesn't tip into actual danger, that lust doesn't become fear after all. None of them have done this before but, Jason remembers the look on people's faces before they pass out, before they give up, the light in their eyes waning. 

And oh, no, that's not a thought he should be following after right now. 

He relaxes and lets go, uses his free hand brace himself on the mattress to gain enough leverage that he can re-position them just a little, enough so he can sit up and lean forward so their chests touch, however awkwardly. But he wants to be closer, wants the added intimacy. He wants to kiss the desperation, the wild need, right of Dick, share his labored breaths and steal what's left of them. Gradually, he increases the pressure on Dick's windpipe again, and that's all it takes; he can feel Dick's body seize around him, feel the hot streaks on his skin when Dick comes, spilling between them. Jason doesn't let go until he's done, keeps their mouths sealed together throughout. Waits until Dick all but falls into his embrace, boneless, and only then does he remove his hand completely, gathering him close, while he thrusts up hard once, twice, chasing is own orgasm. 

He comes with Dick in his arms, face pressed into the crock of Jason's neck and mouthing kisses against his skin. It's perfect and it makes fear rush back in almost as soon as arousal recedes. 

Jason slides his hands down to Dick's hips, pushes at him to get off. “C'mon. Move.” 

When he raises his head, Dick's frowning at him, inquisitive. But he doesn't say anything yet, just lifts himself up, both of them grimacing in unison because _that_ part of the proceedings is never not gross. He shuffles off the bed after, holding out his hand, and Jason reaches down to remove the condom, tie it up, and watches as Dick disappears into the bedroom to clean himself up. Jason should follow him; he doesn't, merely wiping himself down with the far end of the bed sheet. 

Before he steps out of the bathroom, Dick stands in the doorway, hesitant. He's illuminated by the light he hasn't switched off yet, and the sight of him, after weeks of this, remains simply breathtaking. 

Like he's always been. Like he always will be, even when Jason won't get to see him like this anymore. 

Dick turns the bathroom light out and saunters back to the bed, sits own on the mattress with one leg folded underneath himself. Close enough that he can lean in, and he does, presses his lips to Jason's in a kiss that's slower than any of the others tonight. Less charged, and more, at the same time. Jason's hand wraps around his neck, gently drawing him closer, and he lets his thumb brush about the spot where he squeezed earlier. There might be bruises in the form of his fingers, for a day or two, or there might not. Either way, the suit will cover it, and for the times when it doesn't, well. Not too hard to explain away with the lives they lead, and they’ve all perfect the kind of proverbial stage make up that keeps the public from catching on. Shit like that happens. No one will have to know how these bruises came into being. 

They part, and Jason searches for Dick's gaze. “Are you okay?” 

“Never better,” Dick says. When Jason scoffs at him, disbelieving, he adds, “I feel great. Adrenaline, afterglow, a little bit of everything.” 

He's smiling softly, and part of Jason wants to run with that, believe him point blank and not ask anymore questions. But that part is rarely in charge of him. “But weren't you – “ 

He doesn't know how to continue. _Weren't you afraid of me? Weren't you worried that I’d hurt you?_ The questions are there, but he can't get them _out_. 

Dick seems to hear them anyway, loud and clear. “Should I have been?”

Mutely, Jason shakes his head. “No. Yes. I don't know.” 

The easy way out would be calling on Dick's self-preservation instincts. His training. The fact that he should know better than to open himself up, make himself vulnerable like that. But what it comes down to is that Dick just isn't Jason. Believing in people is what he does. Trusting them, giving them the benefit of the doubt no matter how undeserving they might be of that trust. 

“I wasn't going to hurt you,” Jason starts. “I didn't want to – “ 

He's stopped short when Dick dives in to kiss him again. Chaste and quick and, Jason suspects, by the way of shutting him up. 

“I know,” Dick says. He looks at Jason, like he's dissecting him – using those keen detective senses they all had trained into them – and cants his head. “Are _you_ okay?” 

And there's no way Jason could ever begin to explain. He doesn't have the words to say that this matters too much to him, and that he doesn't know how to handle _needing_ anyone. Can't possible blurt out something like, _I can't believe it sometimes, that you're mine. I've wanted you for so long that it seems like I was born in love with you, and in a sense, that might even be true_. Could never explain how wanting this was safe, didn't hurt that much at all, but the thought of losing it might very well cost him what's left of his sanity. 

He shrugs his shoulders, wills his features into detached nonchalance. Masks come naturally to him, at this point. They don't even have to be literal. “Yeah. Sure.” 

Dick scoffs, and it's obvious that he's buying precisely none of that. But he doesn't press the issue. He tugs at the t-shirt Jason's still wearing, for some unfathomable reason, and Jason sheds it obediently. Then he drags Dick down with him, and they settle, facing each other and so close Jason can feel his breath, the heat of his body. 

“You know,” Dick says, “I'm not going anywhere. And I know you can't believe that, nor can you _trust_ it, but it's the truth. I don't plan on leaving. I won't.” 

Jason rolls his eyes, shifting so he can reach out and swat at Dick's head. “Oh, shut up. What kinda Hallmark movie do you think this is?” 

He doesn't get an answer to that. Dick just smiles at him, so fondly it makes the ball of tension inside Jason's heart ache, and closes his eyes. Then he shifts and nuzzles his pillow, heaves a long-suffering sigh. “You woke me up in the middle of the night, and as fun as that turned out to be, you better let me get some sleep now. Otherwise, _I_ might try choking _you_ until you see stars, and there won't be an orgasm to make that worth it either.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com).


End file.
